A Day in the Life
by Anjali Organna
Summary: Not so much an ordinary day any longer. (L/L) Chapter 16: How Now Brown Cow? The beginings of a resolution for poor Luke and Lorelai. Of course, one of them'll screw it up somehow.
1. The Word of the Day?

**Title:**   A Day in the Life

**Summary**: Basically no plot. Just ordinary life—Gilmore style

**Rating**: PG for swearing (courtesy Luke/Lorelai), sarcasm (courtesy Jess), and sexual innuendos (courtesy Tristan)

**Disclaimer**: The plot (or lack thereof) is mine. The characters, settings and Baked Alaska are not.

**Feedback**: Always appreciated.

**Author's** **Note**: This is my first ever fanfic, and I'm not quite sure how the bloody uploading process works, so hopefully this will all turn out. I'm sorry about the length of the chapters, what can I say? I get bored easily. Oh well. On to the story.

**Chapter One: The Word of the Day? **

_It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them._

_--Emerson_

The Gilmores were in for their usual cup of coffee at the usual hour before heading out to their usual respective schedules of inn-managing and Chilton. Luke, as usual, was being "difficult," as Lorelai phrased it, i.e. he wasn't immediately acquiescing to all of her demands. 

"No more coffee. I'll make you blueberry pancakes, I'll give you free Danish, anything but coffee."

"Free Danish?" Rory perked up.

"Blueberry pancakes?" Lorelai repeated, then shook herself violently. "No! No! Coffee! We will not be swayed by the evil man who attempts to mollify us!" ("Mollify?" Jess repeated. "Dear god, what is the world coming to?")

"But mom, free Danish. And blueberry _pancakes_." Rory frowned pensively. "I wonder if he'd give us hash browns, too."  
Luke set down two cups. "Here."

"Yay! I win!" Lorelai attempted to do a little happy dance, but because she was sitting down, she looked vaguely like a clown doing an impression of a mime trapped in a box. She took a huge gulp. And promptly spat it out all over Jess.

"Eeww, gross!" They simultaneously exclaimed, for totally different reasons. Muttering under his breath, Jess went upstairs to change. Rory giggled. Lorelai shot a murderous glance at Luke. A lesser man, who did not know Lorelai and was not wearing plaid, would have been paralyzed on the spot.

"Luke!" bellowed Lorelai. "Are you trying to poison me? What the hell is this, this _travesty_ of a drink?"

"Travesty?" Luke repeated. "Gosh, Lor, is that your new word of the day? And by the way, it's tea. It won't kill you. In fact, you may live five minutes longer if any of that made it down your throat."

Lorelai stole Kirk's muffin ("How _dare_ you! I'm going to lodge a formal complaint against you at the next town meeting!") and threw it at Luke. Who neatly caught it and passed it back to a thoroughly disgruntled Kirk.

Rory tugged on her mother's sleeve. "As entertaining as today's episode of 'Live with Luke and Lorelai' is, we have to go. Hell awaits me. Lucifer awaits you."

("Lucifer?" repeated Jess, who had materialized out of nowhere. "Michel, doll," answered Miss Patty, eyeing Jess appreciatively.)

"But—coffee—have you abandoned me so quickly?" gasped Lorelai.

"Chilton!"

"Coffee!"

"Chilton!" 

"Coffee!"

"Oh, good god, be quiet!" roared Luke. "Here. Take it and go."

He was immediately blasted with the full force of identical Gilmore grins.

"Have fun in the City of Dis!" Jess called after Rory, who turned and acknowledged the comment with a smile. Luke stared at him. "What the hell is that?"

"_Dante's Inferno_," answered Jess, smiling enigmatically.

Luke shook his head. "You're nuts."

"Yeah, well at least I'm not easily manipulated. Or worse, madly in love with a Gilmore," Jess replied wickedly, then pointed.

Luke gaped at him, tried to deny it and instead muttered incoherently, gave up, and looked.

They had stolen his entire plate of Danish.

***

It was shaping up to be a very busy day at the Inn. Lorelai wasted ten minutes avoiding Roon and antagonizing Michel, and was about to get down to business when Sookie ran up.

"Oh, honey, guess what?"

"Ooo, I love this game," Lorelai said, then placing her fingers at her temples, said dramatically, "Ok, Julia Roberts realized the errors of her ways and is begging Benjamin Bratt to take her back."

"Really?" Sookie asked, interested. "Cause I personally like the camera guy."

"Hmm...Ok, Kirk is madly in love with Miss Patty and they are currently shagging each other senseless in the back of Taylor's Market."

"Oh, honey, I did not need that mental image." Sookie shuddered.

"Yeah, me neither," Lorelai grimaced. "Well, I guess that leaves...chicken butt?"

Sookie looked blank. "Can I talk now?" Without waiting for assent, she went on with the misty glow of someone in love, "Jackson's currently working on his new product. We're really excited about it. Guess wha—no, I'll tell you. It's going to be a Bananapple! Get it? A cross between an apple and a banana!"

"Oh, wow, Sookie, that's...exciting," Lorelai replied, for lack of a better adjective. "Hey, maybe Snapple will buy you out."

Apparently that was an enthusiastic enough response for Sookie, who gave a dewy smile, although she looked a little perplexed by the Snapple comment.

After hunting around for several minutes, Lorelai finally found Michel skulking outside her office. 

"Michel, part of your job description includes the title 'receptionist.' Which implies that receptioning should be taking place by you."

He sneered at her. " 'Receptioning' is not a word. And all these people keep asking me questions." 

Lorelai sighed. "Will you proof read today's menu, then?"

He glanced at it, then said, "The font is too small, I might hurt my eyes. Do you want to be sued for personal injury?"

She bared her teeth at him. "Do you want to be paid?"

Just then, a loud explosion sounded from the kitchen, followed briefly by the smoke alarm. Lorelai and Michael stared at one another for a long moment. Then Michael indicated the menu. "I have to proof read this."

Lorelai squared her shoulders and walked into the kitchen. There was glass all over the floor, and Sookie was waving busily at a smoking dish. Jackson hung up the fire extinguisher, and sent Lorelai a tentative smile.

"Don't worry, it wasn't a big deal," Sookie reassured her. "It seems that dropping a match into Baked Alaska isn't such a great idea."

"Oh, right," Lorelai said. "It's only, what, like 90% brandy?"

Sarcasm was obviously not affecting Sookie at the moment. Lorelai did a mental eye roll, looked at her watch, and swore. Only 8:45 am. Holy god.


	2. MmmmDarcy

**Title:**   A Day in the Life

**Summary**: Basically no plot. Just ordinary life—Gilmore style

**Rating**: PG for swearing (courtesy Luke/Lorelai), sarcasm (courtesy everyone), and sexual innuendos (courtesy Tristan)

**Disclaimer**: The plot (or lack thereof) is mine. The characters, settings, and Constitution are not.

**Feedback**: Always appreciated.

**Author's** **Note**: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. It really made my heart tingle. (That did not make sense to me either.) Anyways, I'm not really happy with this part, but I wanted to move on with the story. Much to my chagrin, I've realized that it's much easier to write Lorelai than Rory. Guess that says something about the way my mind works.

**Chapter Two: Mmm…Darcy**

_A dirty mind is better than no mind at all._

_—Anonymous _

The damn locker wouldn't open.

Granted, it had refused to budge on several occasions prior, until Rory inexplicably, on her last attempt before she gave up, would be able to get it open. 

However. 

There was always that vague moment of panic when you thought to yourself that this time, it would never open, and you'd have to give all your carefully organized and color coded notes up for dead, and you'd be forced to ask Paris for copies, only she'd purposely leave out some, and then you'd fail all of your exams, and of course Harvard didn't accept failures, did they? 

Or so Rory thought. 

"Here, let me get that." A smooth voice broke into her reverie. Rory jumped, then turned and said icily, "I suppose you couldn't just say 'hello' like a normal person."

Tristan DuGrey considered the question for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Too conventional."

"And God knows, your reputation would never stand if you were caught acting boring."

He looked at her, amused. "Is something wrong? Did you get an A- on the English test?"

Before Rory had a chance to reply, he gently pushed her out of the way and said, "Now, watch and learn."

He banged on the locker with his fist. 

Nothing happened. 

He frowned and banged again, harder.

Nada. Zilch. Zippo. The locker remained stubbornly closed. Nah nah nah boo boo.  

He glared.

Rory hid a smirk and said coolly, "Still watching. Haven't learned anything. Oh, and by the way, I'm pretty sure the locker's got you beat in a staring contest."

Tristan swore and banged again. This time it popped open easily as if it hadn't spent the last ten minutes causing two normally intelligent teenagers remarkable frustration. 

Tristan turned and sent her a Triumphant Little Boy on Christmas Morning Grin. Despite herself, Rory smiled back.

 Damn, damn, damn damn, damn. What am I getting myself into?

"So, what do you think of the history project?" Tristan asked, falling into step beside her.

She blinked.

Definitely not what was supposed to happen. Tristan DuGrey had just asked her a normal question. Indicating a normal conversation. Only problem was, Tristan DuGrey didn't _do_ normal. 

But on second thought, what the hell? If he reverted back to Evil Tristan Who Can't Take A Hint, she could always seek solace in the library. Or if she was really in trouble, the girls bathroom. Although she was pretty sure Tristan was already thoroughly familiar with _that_ particular room.

Anyways. Normal conversation. Right.

"Well, I think it could be very interesting," she said cautiously. "The drafting of the Constitution is so fascinating, and Thomas Jefferson's one of the most intriguing men in American history."

"Yeah, he's one of my favorite historical figures. I can't get over how young he was. What a mind he must have had!"

Rory looked at Tristan quizzically. "I never pegged you as the type to get off on our founding fathers."

"You'd be surprised at what I get off on," he grinned, but before she could reply he went on somewhat musingly, "I just can't imagine knowing that you'd be fashioning the mechanisms by which an entire country would run." 

"Ah, I see. It's the power that appeals to you."

He shrugged. "Take it however you want. I'm just glad the project won't be boring." 

She looked at him, intrigued despite herself. "You know what? This is the first semi-normal conversation we've had in a long time."

He gave her the All Too Familiar Smirk. "Don't go ruining the moment now, _Mary_. If it makes you uncomfortable I'm sure I could find a way to...distract you."

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  

She should have known better. One doesn't simply invite the lion to take a bite, and then expect him to say, 'No thanks, I'm full for the day.' If there was an innuendo to be had, well, then Tristan...would have it. Right.

Rory's head hurt. Too much sugar from all the Danish this morning, she supposed. 

"Trust me, it would take a lot more than you to be a distraction. Maybe if you looked like Colin Firth in 'Pride & Prejudice,' and you were riding a white stallion and you came and swept me off my feet—although I doubt a horse would willingly come into the hallways of Chilton, not to mention the fact that the janitors would be really upset if it made a mess, and if you tried to sweep me off my feet, I'd probably end up hitting my head on the ceiling, thus ruining any romantic effect the gesture would have held..." 

Unfortunately Rory ran out of breath right about there.

"Are you finished?" Tristan asked, struggling not to laugh.

"Uh, yeah." Her cheeks flamed.

"So...White stallions, huh?"

She gave him a cheeky grin. "What can I say? I'm a literary kind of girl."

*                                                                      *                                                          *

  
  



	3. Kill Me Now

**Title:**   A Day in the Life

**Summary**: Basically no plot. Just ordinary life—Gilmore style

**Rating**: PG for swearing (courtesy Luke/Lorelai), sarcasm (courtesy everyone), and sexual innuendos (courtesy Tristan)

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, blah blah blahity blah

**Feedback**: Always appreciated.

**Author's** **Note**: Steph—_Oh_. Wow. You're right. Oops. Don't I feel foolish. Thank you so much for picking up on that. Sadly, I am one of those people who hate reading fics with misspellings. Pot, meet kettle. How _do_ you do. Anyway, I've re-uploaded or whatever all the chapters to correct that.

**Chapter Three: Kill Me Now**

_Good breeding consists in concealing how much we think of ourselves and how little we think of the other person._

_—Mark Twain_

Lorelai rubbed her aching temples and said, "Well, Mrs., Wellington, I'm really sorry, but we have guests already booked for every weekend for at least a month, and I'm afraid we can't just cancel their rooms." She was beginning to feel like a broken record. Mrs. Wellington had heard about the inn from one of her friends ("She said it was just so charmingand _provincial_) and apparently had decided that the inn was the perfect place for her annual Daughters of the Revolution Or Something Equally Inane Convention. Unfortunately, she wanted to rent out the entire inn on a three-week notice, which wasn't practical.

Of course, neither was Mrs. Wellington. Practical, that is. Lorelai had been on the phone with the bloody woman for only ten minutes, and she already knew that Mrs. Wellington expected to get her way. Lorelai was only too familiar with the other woman's character, hell, she'd grown up among an entire world of Mrs. Wellingtons. That didn't make dealing with her any easier.  

Lorelai was temped to pawn her off on Michel; yes he was rude, but he was ever so _French_ about it. Women like Mrs. Wellington mistook Michel's snootiness to mean that he simply outclassed her. Brutal, yet effective.

Lorelai tried again. "Well, the third weekend of October is nearly empty. I believe we have only one couple and a family of four staying with us. That still leaves more than enough rooms for your convention."

"Will your chef be able to make enough food for my convention and the other guests?"

"Oh, of course. Don't worry about that."

"And will the other guests stay out of our way—I mean, we won't be limiting their options, will we?"

Lorelai hid a smile, then remembered that the other woman couldn't see her. "I'm sure they'll get by."

If Mrs. Wellington picked up on her veiled (and for Lorelai, mild) sarcasm, she didn't comment. "Wonderful. Book us." 

            *                                              *                                                                      *

Lorelai was passing by the front desk when the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"Michel!"

He glowered at her. "You are ruining my day."

She gave him a perky smile. "Good to know something's going as planned."

"Independence Inn, Michel speaking," he drawled. A few seconds later his face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ah hello, Mrs. Gilmore! I am considerably well, despite the efforts of your daughter, and you?"

Lorelai lunged for the phone.

Too bad Michel had longer arms. Damn gorilla.

"Give it to me! _Give it to me!_" she hissed frantically, dancing around him in a frenzied attempt to reach the phone before All Hell Broke Loose. "I swear to God, Michel, if you don't give me the phone I will—I will—"

"Do what, precisely? Attempt to look even more ridiculous than you do right now?"

"It's probably not possible," said Kirk, standing in the doorway. "Although music might help."

Lorelai briefly considered throwing the vase at someone. Anyone. But preferably Kirk. "No one asked you, Kirk! What the devil are you doing here, anyway?"

"I need to talk to Jackson. I heard about his Bananaple idea, and I want to invest."

"Do you see Jackson in this room?" 

Kirk shook his head.

"Then why are you still here? Shouldn't you be off looking for him?"

"But it's so much fun watching you. Does Miss Patty know what talent for dancing you have?" He gave a theatrical gasp. "You could go into partnership with her. You'd make millions with your skill!"

"Kirk, I really have no time to fight with you. _Michel_ is talking to my _mother. _God knows, they might be planning to take over the world and force everyone to color coordinate their cutlery and plates and table linens and stuff!"

"Lorelai, you're making no sense." With that, Kirk left.

Lorelai resumed swatting at the phone. "Michel, hand the damn phone over," she whispered hysterically.

"Michel?" Her mother's voice sounded over the line. "Is someone there? It sounds like a dying cat."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. 

"It's your daughter," Michel eyed her disapprovingly. "She appears to be a trifle...agitated." 

"Lorelai? Why isn't she working? And will you tell her that she is not to be late for dinner again? It really is inexcusable."

Michel smirked.

She sneered at him, and then made one last, heroic effort to snag the phone.

Unfortunately, she ended up snagging the cord instead.

The dial tone echoed ominously.

Lorelai winced. Michel looked mildly affronted.

If there was on thing (well, actually, there were many things, but that was besides the point) that Emily Gilmore didn't stand for, it was being hung up on. It was the Epitome of Bad Taste, she said. Completely Rude, Showed No Respect, she said. Utterly Uncouth and (this was only implied) _Lower Class._

At least, that's what she said.

Lorelai reluctantly dialed the familiar numbers.

"Lorelai? Is that you?"

"Hi, mom."

"What happened? One moment I was talking to that nice young man—" Lorelai choked—"and the next thing I know I was cut off. Why did you hang up on me?"

Never mind the fact that Lorelai hadn't actually been on the damn phone to begin with. Of course it _was_ technically her fault.

But still. 

"...You know how rude that is, even if you don't think _I'm_ all that important and not worth being polite to, but you still shouldn't..."

Lorelai closed her eyes.

Oh, great.

A migraine.


	4. The Case of the Wandering Mind

**Title: A Day in the Life**

**Summary: Oh, Christ, you mean like a plot? **

**Rating: PG, but it may go up a little.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, settings, or Brad Pitt. Boo hoo for me.**

**Author's Note: Well, I have been informed by a certain Critical Reader (not any of you fine folks) that I need a plot in order to continue. So. In this chapter I have made a stab at one. And, here you go. The beginning of the rest of the story. I think. Oh, and like I said, Tristan never left, he only got suspended after 'Run Away, Little Boy.' Paris and Rory still had to do the death scene together. Heeheehee.**

**Chapter Four: The Case of the Wandering Mind**

_Remember school? The place you go to learn to communicate, and all they do is tell you to shut up?_

_—Anonymous _

Rory shifted uncomfortably in her seat and half-heartedly stifled a yawn. Their History teacher, Mrs. Miller, had let them meet with their project groups for the class period. Which meant that 30 seconds into it, Paris had already established command and went off on a rant about something that was only intelligible to her. 

Or maybe it was unintelligible to Rory because she hadn't listened to Paris' beginning spiel and therefore missed all the translations of the abbreviations Paris was using. Pity, that.

Rory looked around the group. Tristan was staring at the wall, or something, and Madeline was reading her horoscope under the table. Only Brad was paying rapt attention; he was too terrified of The Force That Was Paris to do anything else.

She was actually kind of glad to be with Paris on this project, if only because then everyone would pull their own weight, and they would finish ahead of schedule. In fact—

"Now, I expect _everyone to do their part."_

See.

 "There will be no slacking, and Tristan, if you _must get yourself suspended, __kindly do it after we're done."_

Paris glared furiously at him, and he gave her a mock salute in return. 

"We _will work hard, we __will give 200%, and We Will Get An A! If any one of you causes my GPA to go down—"_

Brad flinched. Visibly.

Paris handed out sets of thick packets. Flipping through hers, Rory groaned. The pages were titled with various headings such as Things We Know, Things We Need To Find Out, Who Will Get What Info And When, Research, Organizing Our Research… It went on. 

Honestly. 

Rory liked to think (and her mother liked to tell her) that she was freakishly neat and obsessively organized in her studies, but _this?_

Honestly.

*                                                                      *                                                          *

Rory liked American history. 

She did. Really. 

It wasn't her fault that Paris' mini history "recap" was boring her to tears. Paris could make an analysis of Brad Pitt's best features dull. 

Rory could just imagine it. "Well, his eyes could be considered his best feature, but the overall look is slightly _marred by the fact that his left eyebrow is tilted at a 22.4 degree angle while his right one is only tilted 19.8 degrees."_

Oh, yeah. Hot stuff.

"Moving on to his abdominal region. While Brad does have a six pack, meaning that there are six well defined sections of abdominal muscles clearly visible, they are not as _defined as one would hope. ("Hey, Paris, who knew you liked them ripped?") This, however, is offset by very nice Davids, which refers to the muscles over his hipbones, and are named after the statue of David, the famous sculpture by Michelangelo, who many believe is a perfect example of a virile male in his prime…"_

Well, maybe that's not exactly how Paris would do it. Unfortunately, the thought amused Rory so much that she committed what Paris _would consider to be a carnal sin._

She snickered. In the middle of a lecture. Delivered by Paris. Uh oh.

Four pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

Tristan and Madeline seemed relieved by the interruption, Brad kept shooting nervous glances at Paris, and Paris…had obviously not expected to be interrupted. 

"Is there something you'd like to share with us Rory?" she inquired icily. "Because I for one see nothing amusing about the Boston Massacre. Please, _enlighten us."_

Why the hell was she talking about the Boston Massacre? It really had nothing to do with anything they were supposed to be concentrating on. Unless of course, Rory had missed something. She mentally went over their assigned project. No, definitely not related to the subject at hand. So then why—

"Rory?"

Oh, right. Extracting foot from mouth.

"Um…Something was stuck in my throat?" Rory tried. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"So…you giggled," Paris said skeptically.

Rory attempted to sound convincing. "Yup."

Oh, real smooth, Gilmore. You're sure to pass the Paris Polygraph with _flying colors._

Paris didn't look especially convinced, however, she let it go and opened her mouth to continue.

Tristan beat her to it.

"Paris, I'm really very appreciative of all the effort you put into this presentation, I really am, but if you continue telling me things I already know, I am going to scream. You don't have to go over the notes you have on this unit, cause I'm pretty sure we all were required to take down the exact same information. And I'm also sure that we all did well enough on the test so that you could consider us adequately versed on the ins and outs of the subject."

"So what are you saying?" Paris asked coolly.

"Just that we indeed know the basics, and we're wasting valuable time going over stuff when we could be planning ahead," Madeline cut in smoothly.

Evidently, it had not occurred to Paris that her group could actually be on the same page as her.

"Oh. Oh. Planning. Okay. If you'll turn to the page marked 'Our Outline'…" And she was off. Again.

At the end of the period, Paris said, "Well, I think we have a good idea of the next couple of steps, but I would like to meet tomorrow, if that's all right with you."

Translation: We are meeting tomorrow. End of story.

Madeline winced delicately. "Paris, tomorrow's _Saturday. Some of us have lives outside of Chilton."_

Paris glared at her. "And some of us want to go to Harvard. I think college outweighs one Saturday."

Madeline gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. But let's make it early in the day. And we can't have it at my house. My mother's redecorating."

"Not at mine either," Brad said. It was the first truly assertive thing he had said all period. "My brother's home from college."

"And not at mine, either," Paris said. "My grandfather's in town. Tristan?"

"No," he said shortly.

"O_kay. Rory. Here's the perfect opportunity to show off your small town that you're such a proud member of. Consider it a chance to diversify. The residents of Sleepy Hollow—"_

"_Stars Hollow, you know that."_

"Whatever. They will get a taste of big city life, and we can mingle with the village people. Should we meet at your house?"

Rory gave a resigned sigh. There was no point in arguing with Paris when she was in Bossy And Sarcastically Irritable Mode; it would only prolong the discussion.

"Fine. But not at my place. There's a dinner called Luke's Hardware, we can get food while we work."

Sir Winston Churchill once said (or wrote, no one was ever clear on the subject of quotes): 'Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed.'

His Knightly lordship had a point. But there was no denying the inevitable.


	5. Chicken Is As Chicken Does

**Author's Note: Well, I'm back, never fear. Still not too sure which direction I should go in for Rory. You guys let me know.**

**Chapter Five: Chicken Is As Chicken Does**

_If you would marry wisely, marry your equal._

_—Ovid  _

Luke glanced up as the door opened.

Rory was already seated at the counter as Lorelai stumbled into the diner. 

"Need food…sustenance…coffee…" she moaned, thumping down on the stool next to Rory.

Luke rolled his eyes. If he had a penny for each time she said something along those lines, he would have bought out Taylor long ago.

"Tough day at the office?" Rory inquired sympathetically.

"Well, let's recap, shall we?" Lorelai took a breath. "Sookie nearly set the kitchen on fire—again, Michel pulled an Angel, lost his soul, apparently decided that I was his Buffy—post all the lovey dovey stuff—and tortured me for the rest of the day, my mother, who never had a soul to begin with, called for the express purpose of making me insane, oh and I scheduled the Snobs 'R' Us convention for an entire weekend. How was your day?"

Rory laughed. "Well, not nearly as bad as yours. Actually, it wasn't bad at all. Satan was acting normal today. We even had a civil conversation." Rory frowned. "I wonder if he came into his inheritance early."

"Satan?" Jess looked confused. "Why was Michel at your school?"

"No, Michel is Lucifer," Luke corrected him patiently. "Satan is that Tristan kid. I thought he got kicked out."

Rory shook her head. "No, he only got suspended. Although I'm not sure why, his 'transgression' happened off school grounds."

"Probably El Douche flexing his muscles," Lorelai snorted

"Actually, I think it's cause Tristan keeps playing pranks on the school," Rory commented.

"What sort of pranks can Mr. Preppy come up with that pisses off your headmaster?" Jess asked.

"Well, he took apart a teachers' car, and put it back together in the science hall, and before that, he put the school up for sale and listed Headmaster Charlton's extension as the contact number." Rory smiled. "Apparently, the Headmaster was fielding calls for two weeks straight."

"Hmm. Not bad for a prep," Jess remarked, and there was a gleam in his eye that Luke didn't like.

"Don't go getting any ideas, now," he told his nephew.

Jess looked at him disdainfully. "Please. Like I would need to get ideas from some rich boy."

"Careful, Jess. You're beginning to sound like Dean," Lorelai said.

Jess glanced at Rory. "Dean doesn't like Tristan?"

She looked a little pained. "Not really, no."

Lorelai grinned at her daughter. "You always were one for the understatement."

Rory smiled back. "I try my best. At any rate," she told Jess, "You'll get to meet him tomorrow." At her mother's look, she added quickly, "Paris is forcing my History project group to meet, and I got stuck hosting."

Lorelai winced sympathetically. 

"And on top of that," Rory continued, "I got an A- on the Math test."

Jess rolled his eyes.

Lorelai ignored him and said, "Oh, sweetie, that's not bad at all. And you said yourself that it was going to be a doozy."

Luke laughed. "Doozy? Where do you come up with these words?"

"Katie Couric," Jess and Kirk mumbled simultaneously, then looked at each other, horror stricken.

Rory and Lorelai burst out laughing, and Luke was torn between the urge to say something snarky and a genuine fear for his nephew's health.

Lorelai however, knew her priorities. "Well Jess, who'd have thought your mind worked along the same lines as Kirk's?"

"I. Do. _Not. Think. Like. Him," Jess ground out. Kirk looked equally appalled._

"Aww, Jess, we can't control who our soul mates turn out to be," Lorelai drawled. Luke looked at Jess' face and decided to interfere before the latter said something really rude. "Lorelai, even _you can't make the leap between saying the same thing and being soul mates."_

She arched a slender brow at him. "Don't you believe in soul mates, Luke?"

Uh oh. He was on very dangerous ground here.

"I didn't say that."

Luke glanced over at "the kiddies," as Lorelai liked to call them. Jess had slid onto a stool next to Rory. They had their heads together and were whispering something. Probably taking bets on how long he lasted before he ran out of maneuvering room and lost his temper to cover up.

At any rate, they clearly weren't going to help him. He was alone, against the most dangerous woman in the world (besides his mother). 

Not all was lost, however. Years of painful experience had taught Luke that the best way to go up against a Gilmore was to launch a quick offensive and never let her counter-attack. Keep her on her toes and pray she didn't see through you. Once she did, all bets were off. Gilmore women had an unfortunate tendency to see to the heart of the matter, and call you on it. It was only through a combination of sheer dumb luck and Lorelai's own bullheadedness that she hadn't called his bluff years ago. 

She also wasn't very good at poker. Neither was he, for that matter. So he wasn't very clear where all the metaphors were coming from.

"Hello? Earth to Luke!" Lorelai was waving her hand in front of his eyes. 

Damn.

He'd just broken another Cardinal Rule When Dealing With A Gilmore: Never zone out in the middle of a conversation. God knows what they'd do to you when you were Elsewhere.

"Where did you go?" Lorelai asked him, then turned to her daughter. "I wonder what Luke's happy place looks like?"

Rory looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I bet it's outdoorsy."

"And everyone has to wear plaid," Lorelai added.

"And there's probably a place to flip burgers."

"And coffee, lots of it."

"Don't forget the mandatory backwards baseball cap," Jess smirked.

Luke glared at him sourly. "In my happy place, there is no coffee."

Lorelai nearly fell off her stool.

"You don't mean that," she looked at him earnestly. "Your coffee is too good for it _not to be in your happy place. Besides," she shook her finger at him, "If you really didn't like coffee so much, you wouldn't make it so well."_

Trust her to come up with an argument that made absolutely no sense, and still had Rory and even Jess nodding in agreement.

"Well, Luke? What do you have to say to that?" 

She looked entirely too pleased with herself. 

Since there was nothing logical he could say, he didn't even try.

"Marry me."

"What?" She blinked at him. "Oh, no. Nuh uh. You've already done this to me. You're just trying to throw me off topic, cause you can't think of a good enough comeback."

Why deny it? Truth was truth. 

Luke smiled at her. "But what if I was serious? You'll never know that you turned down a perfectly legitimate marriage proposal. Not to mention, you've _devastated my feelings by dismissing me so __cavalierly."_

See. He could use impressive words too.

His pronouncement stumped her for a moment. Then she looked at him consideringly.

"Okay. I will." Her expression was classic Take That material.

Luke frowned. "You will what?"

"Marry you." The challenge was evident in her voice.

His mouth was hanging open. In the back of his mind, Luke was dimly aware that this was the most twisted game of chicken he'd ever played. Even worse, he didn't know how to get out of it without Lorelai lording it over him for the next twenty odd years. The mature decision would be to back out now and just take whatever she dished out. It was, after all, his fault.

But then again, where was the fun in that?

Luke squared his shoulders. "Fine."

Lorelai swallowed and lifted her chin. "Fine."

They stared at each other.

Babette broke the silence. "Oh, it's about time! I'm so happy for you!"

She jumped up, gave Lorelai a bone-crunching hug, and rushed out the door, presumably before anyone else could spread the gossip.

"Yeah…um…Congratulations, guys." Rory's voice was strained with the suppression of shocked hilarity.

Jess didn't say anything, but the look he gave his uncle said clearly, 'You asked for it.'

Luke sighed. Did he ever.

***

**AN: So, what do y'all think? The whole putting the school up for sale actually happened at my school. Best damn senior prank ever. Heeheehee.**


	6. Surprise, Surprise

**AN: Sorry this took so long to get out. I still would like feedback on Rory's situation. Thanks to all the wonderful reviews, they really mean a lot. To Melia: if you gave me chocolate, I would be your willing slave forever. The reference to the Mendez brothers refers to the two boys who killed their parents. It is a distinct possibility that their name wasn't Mendez. If I'm wrong—I know, it's a shocker—please let me know, so I can change it.**

**Chapter Six: Surprise, Surprise**

_I have found  the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it._

_—Harry Truman_

The doorbell rang. 

Emily Gilmore listened for a few seconds, then smiled in satisfaction as—what was her name? Sarah? Meg?—opened the door. There was a murmur of female voices then her daughter and granddaughter walked into the room. 

Emily was about to congratulate them for being on time, which was no small feat where her daughter was concerned, when her seldom-used-but-still-sharp Mother Radar went off. She watched the two carefully for a minute, then spoke. "And how was your day, girls?"

"Uh, fine, grandma," Rory said, shooting a glance at her mother. Lorelai nodded abstractedly.

"Why so quiet, Lorelai? No scathing comments on my phone call earlier? No witticisms on your rather shocking punctual arrival?" Emily Gilmore knew her daughter well enough to be sure that Lorelai would never resist a chance to make a snarky comeback.

The daughter in question looked up. "Sorry. I just…had a really tiring day."

Emily was taken aback. Apologizing came to Lorelai about as easily as an orgasm came to a virgin on her wedding night. Which is to say, it came rarely, if ever. 

Something was Seriously Wrong.

However, Emily knew from painful experience that Lorelai could play clam with the best of them, and the only hope of finding out what was bothering her was by either asking her directly and forcing both an answer and usually, Lorelai's irritation, or waiting for her daughter to spill when she was ready.

"Lorelai, what's going on? What have you done?" _This time hung in the air like a bad smell._

Emily never had been one for patience. It took too long, and God knows the last time Lorelai had confided in her, she had fainted ("Mom? I'm pregnant."—_Thump)._

Lorelai looked irritated. At least, Emily thought with grim satisfaction, she was consistent.

"Nothing, Mom. Let it go."

Emily let it go. For now, anyways.

Richard came into the room. "Rory! How was Chilton?"

"Fine, Grandpa. We're working on our history projects…"

They all trouped into the dinning room and sat down, Rory and Richard animatedly discussing the project. Normally, Lorelai would have listened interestedly, and butted in with a rude comment about one of Rory's teachers. Tonight, she picked listlessly at her plate. Emily watched in horror as her daughter pierced a piece of Avocado, put it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Lorelai _hated Avocado. _

"All right. That's it. I want to know what's going on," Emily announced in the voice that made the maitre de's of Hartford's classier restaurants clear off their best table, and sent her servants running. "And don't try to brush it off, Lorelai," she added warningly, "I just watched you eat an entire piece of Avocado."

The logic probably wouldn't have worked on anyone else. The Gilmore mind, Emily thought musingly, was a remarkable thing.

Lorelai might have understood her meaning, but she didn't like it one bit. She sat mutinously at her seat, not meeting her mother's eyes.

It was Rory who broke the silence. "Mom?" Emily read the question in her eyes.

Lorelai shook her head stubbornly. "Mother, it's probably not a big deal. You'll just turn it into this huge to-do, and get yourself all worked up over nothing."

A sudden fear gripped Emily. "You don't think you're pregnant, do you?"

"_Mother!" shrieked Lorelai. "God, no! Where do you—how—__why—" Words failed her._

"Well, then, what is it?" Emily asked determinedly.

"It's nothing, it's…just…stupid. You wouldn't understand."

Emily ignored the last part. "Well, if it's so stupid, then why can't you tell me? I am your mother, and if it affects Rory, then I have a right to know." 

Lorelai dropped her head in her hands. A choked noise squeezed out between her fingers.

"Lorelai? Are you all right?" Richard asked, concern thick in his voice.

Lorelai mumbled something about the Mendez brothers and lifted her head. "Fine. But you have to promise," she looked at Emily, "not to go off about this."

Emily felt faintly affronted. "I never 'go off,' as you so inelegantly put it. I don't know what you're talking about."

Her daughter smiled tightly. "Okay, Mom, if you really want to know, don't argue with me."

"Lorelai, I don't see why you're so upset. You said yourself it wasn't a big deal."

Lorelai gave a strangled scream. "I need a drink."

"Mom, just tell them," Rory said soothingly. "You'll feel better after you do."

Emily couldn't see the look Lorelai gave Rory, but she could well imagine it.

"Well, this afternoon…"

"Yes?" Patience really wasn't Emily's thing.

Lorelai glared at her mother. "Let me tell it. This afternoon…I…sort of...gotengagedtoluke." The last part was said in a rush.

"What?" both Emily and Richard asked.

"I. Got. Engaged." Lorelai ground out, then added, "I think."

"To whom?" Richard asked.

"What do you mean, you _think? Either you are, or you aren't," Emily said repressively._

"Mom, it's not that simple. It sort of started out as a dare, but…well neither of us have backed out, and now I don't know what anything means," Lorelai said lamely.

Emily stared at her daughter. "For as long as I live, I will never understand you. What kind of a dare ends up with engagement?"

 "To whom?" Richard asked again.

"I told you, you wouldn't understand. Just forget it," Lorelai sighed.

"I am not going to forget my only daughter going off and getting herself 'engaged' on accident," Emily threw out. "Now what are you going to do about this?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, then—"

"Emily, do you not care who your daughter is marrying?" Richard thundered. "For God's sake, girl, just tell me who the man is!"

Emily was taken aback. Richard seldom got excited about anything, and it had been _years since he had really yelled. _

"Um…It's Luke." 

"The diner man? The man who wears flannel all the time?"

Lorelai looked at her mother quickly, then resumed staring at her plate. "Yes."

Emily didn't know what to say. On one hand, she felt smug with the knowledge that she had foreseen such a match. On the other hand…It _was the diner man. _

She usually loved being right. But now… She was right. Just about the wrong thing. And all her earlier insinuations were coming back and hitting her in the face.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling. 


	7. Tweedle Dee Meets Tweedle Dum

**AN: Wow! Two updates in as many days. Don't go getting all spoiled now. Sorry the chapter lengths are so short (My Critical Reader was somewhat…critical. Oh well). I'll try to have the next installment out within the next few days, so keep checking back. I must apologize: Dean makes an appearance in this chapter. Unfortunately, for plot purposes, I can't kill him off just yet. Never fear, there will be a sudden, tragic outbreak of smallpox that mysteriously only infects Dean somewhere in the future, and not even Rory's misplaced love will be able to save him. But look on the bright side: Slow-Witted Dean means plenty of Sarcastic Tristan and Acerbic Jess. Fine Holiday Fun for everyone!**

**Chapter Seven: Tweedle Dee Meets Tweedle Dum**

_General: I can't make out whether you're bloody bad mannered or just half-witted._

_Lawrence: I have the same problem, sir._

_—__Lawrence__ of __Arabia___

Paris was, of course, waiting at Luke's when Rory arrived precisely at 10:01 am. Rory would have been earlier, but Lorelai delayed her by throwing a hissy fit when Rory refused to buy her coffee.

The outburst relieved Rory somewhat; with the exception of last night's disastrous dinner, Lorelai had barely spoken to anyone since The Incident. When Sookie called later that evening, frantic with worry and curiosity, Lorelai simply handed the phone over to Rory without saying a word. And so Rory had been forced to explain to the now slightly hysterical Sookie an event which was largely inexplicable.

Personally, Rory didn't know what to think about her mother's current predicament. Like it or not, Lorelai had inherited her own mother's unique talent for turning molehills into mountains. 

When it came to Drama, no one did it better than a Gilmore.

Granted, this situation was a bit…extreme, even for Lorelai. She and Luke had fought and gone through awkward phases before, most notably during the whole Max Engagement Fiasco, and whenever Christopher dropped by, but _this. _

This opened up all sorts of New Avenues. And Rory knew her mother wasn't prepared to go strolling down any of them just yet.

Jess was apparently minding the diner. The cause of Lorelai's turmoil was nowhere to be seen.

Rory mouthed "One moment," at Paris, who looked vaguely disgruntled, but didn't bother arguing as no one else had yet arrived, and slide onto a stool in front of Jess.

"How is he?" she asked.

Jess cocked a brow at her. "How is _she?"_

She made a face at him. "You know, it's rude to answer a question with another question," she protested, then said anyway, "In shock, I think. For once I feel like the gregarious member of the family."

Jess nodded. "Last night, he closed the diner an _hour early. And this morning, Taylor and Kirk came in and had an entire conversation about starting early on the Christmas decorations. Luke didn't even so much as blink an eye." Jess sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the old Luke. He at least could be counted on for twenty minutes of entertainment."_

Rory gave him a look, then replied, "Yeah. And now our whole system's screwed up, cause she won't come in here."

He looked at her oddly. "Your system?"

"Think about it. You _are our main suppliers of food, not to mention coffee. Now we'll have to look elsewhere for sustenance. Do you know how long it takes to find really consistent food service? In addition to that, Mom will probably get into trouble by trying to bribe small children to come in here and buy her coffee—oh, don't look at me like that, it's happened before." Rory sighed dramatically. "Could my life get __any more complicated?"_

Just then, a smirking Tristan came in, followed by a Very Angry Dean.

Rory's shoulders slumped.

"It was a rhetorical question," she muttered.

***

"Rory?" Dean's voice was strained with the effort of suppressed fury. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Rory turned and shot a warning glance at both Jess and Tristan. "Not one word, either of you," she threatened.

Tristan opened his eyes very wide. "Who, me?"

Jess didn't even bother. "If he says something incredibly dumb or possessive, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Rory shook her head and walked over to Dean, leaving Tristan looking consideringly at Jess.

"Hey," she greeted Dean tentatively.

"Both of them?" Dean asked. "One, I can handle, but this? Rory, what's going on?"

"Dean, Tristan's here because we're working on a project together—"

"There's no kissing involved, is there?" Dean interrupted.

Rory smiled at that. "No, and remember, there wasn't any last time, either."

"Not like he didn't try," Dean muttered.

"Dean, don't worry, I'll keep Tristan away from you."

"Please don't on my account. I don't want you talking to him any more than you have to."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Dean, I _have to talk to him. He's in my project group, and like it or not, we go to the same school."_

"Rory, he has a thing for you. I don't want him near you."

"Look, we've been over this before. He does not have a thing for me. And even with the remote possibility that he _did, it still doesn't matter. I'm with __you, not him. So please don't worry, and just trust me. You do trust me, don't you?"_

Dean didn't immediately reply; he was too busy glaring at Satan and the Devil Boy.

"Dean?"

"…Yes. Yes. I do, of course I do. I just don't trust them."

Rory finally started to lose her temper. "Well, I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do about that. Look, will you please just go? We need to work on our project, and I won't be able to concentrate with you here. Besides, they'll just keep baiting you."

"Fine," he growled. "But I don't like it."

She smiled sympathetically. "No one's asking you to like it. I'll call you when I'm done, okay?"

He nodded tightly, directed one last, furious glare at the other boys, and stalked out.

Rory blew out a breath, and joined the group. Madeline and Brad had arrived in the meantime, and Paris looked positively antsy.

"Is today's episode of _Days of Our Lives over yet?" she inquired acidly. "Or are we waiting for an encore performance?"_

Dear God, Rory thought. If there was more, she didn't want any part of it.

***

Tristan watched the exchange coolly. "He is so…so…"

"Moronic? Half witted? Dense?  Imbecilic?" Jess finished for him.

Tristan looked at him wryly. "You see it too? For the life of me, I don't understand the attraction. Doesn't she get bored?"

But it was Paris, to the surprise of them both, who answered. "He's safe. For a first relationship, that's a big thing."

Jess looked at her contemplatively. "Woman, so wise in all her deeds and thoughts. _A ship in a harbor is safe—but that is not what ships are for."_

"John Shedd," Tristan commented. Both Jess and Paris looked at him.

"Contrary to popular belief, I _do read," he told them mildly. _

"Will wonders never cease," Paris muttered.

"You're Tristan DuGrey, right?" Jess asked.

"Yeah. I'm guessing my reputation precedes me."

Jess shrugged. "I've heard some things. Jess Mariano."

They did one of those boy nods of acknowledgement.

Paris rolled her eyes. If those two teamed up, Dean wouldn't last a week.

***

So, you like? Let me know. Next up: More Tristan/Jess interactions, Dominatrix Paris returns, and…Luke and Lorelai come face to face!


	8. Some Damn Thing Always Goes Wrong

**AN: Well, I'm back. Did any of you send out search parties? (My Critical Reader did.) Anyway, I do have an excuse. It's a bad word. Six letters. Can you guess? School. The bane of my existence. I will keep updating, but not as regularly. Do check back once in a while, and please keep the feedback coming, I really enjoy reading all of your comments. The standings so far: Jess: A lot. Tristan: Not as many. If you have a strong opinion about which way I go (and trust me, I will go some way eventually) let be know. In this chapter, I gave the Gilmore's a next-door neighbor named Marge. I couldn't remember who besides Babette lived by them. Now, be nice to Marge. I like her, even though she's old and slightly senile and has a small, yappy dog. By the way, who's excited for the third season?! Yay Gilmore Girls!**

**Chapter Eight: Some Damn Thing Always Goes Wrong**

_My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has to go._

_—Oscar Wilde_

Lorelai was rooting around in the closet for something to relieve her boredom when the phone rang. She dashed madly into the living room shouting "Hold on!," tripped over a pillow that had mysteriously made its way into the room and wedged itself determinedly between the couch and coffee table, banged her shin, and finally found the phone bleating pathetically from under a stack of moldering magazines.

It was clearly an omen of Things To Come.

"Hello?"

"Lorelai, dear, it's Marge from next door." (Marge always introduced herself this way, as if Lorelai might have forgotten who she was in the two days passing since they had last spoken.)

"How are you, Marge?"

"Oh, fine. I broke my leg, you know." 

"Yes, Marge, I took you to the hospital."

"Oh, that's right. I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"If it involves singing or dancing, I have been informed by very reliable sources that I should charge by the hour," Lorelai deadpanned.

"What?"

Sure, I'll help you."

"Oh. Well, Pepper, my pooch, you know, has been piddling blood for the last two days, and Dr. Lovejoy—she's our vet, you know—says it may be a urinary tract infection."

This had the possibility of becoming the most disturbing conversation Lorelai had ever had, and given the events of the last day, that was an honor indeed.

"Ah. Well. I really don't know what I'm supposed to say to that, Marge."

"Well, I was wondering if you'd help me collect Pepper's pee. The vet needs a sample to runs some tests, and as I can't walk…"

Lorelai listened, horrified. She had forgotten—_again—that smart people don't agree to do things without finding out what they were agreeing to in the first place._

There seemed to be a trend going around. Sadly, she was the only one who appeared to be affected.

***

Paris was distraught.

She had forgotten an extremely important article about differing historical perspectives on the framing of the Constitution. Normally, such an oversight would never have occurred. But lately, Paris had been feeling the heat, so to speak. From one, all-encompassing, overwhelming origin.

Harvard.

Unlike Rory Gilmore, it wasn't her ultimate dream.

Shocked? Get in line.

It was her mother's dream. Her father's legacy. Her family's tradition.

As the only heir, the expectations were staggering, and there was no excuse for failure. Both her parents had gone to Chilton, and were avid supporters of the "Failure is a part of life, but not a part of Chilton" mandate. Minus the failure in life bit.

And perhaps another girl would have said, 'To hell with that. I want to go to Columbia, which has a better journalism school anyway. I want to go out once in a while and kick back with my friends. I want to be known as more than just the girl to go to for tutoring. 

I want a bloody _life.'_

But Paris was not that girl. She never had been, and probably never would be. It was just a part of The Way Things Were. And Paris, being a Geller (stoic, obsessively organized and anal retentive) had simply accepted her fate, and moved on.

She wasn't exactly unhappy. In fact, she did take a sort of ferocious pride in knowing that she was smarter, worked harder, and was destined to go farther than most kids her age. 

But sometimes, watching girls like Summer and Louise, she wondered what it would be like on the other side of the fence.

But right now, Paris needed the damn article. Well, she didn't actually _need it per se, but it would have been nice to have on hand._

"Paris, we all remember the article. It really doesn't matter," Madeline said distractedly.

Paris growled in frustration. The meeting itself, after the somewhat delayed start, had actually been productive, but now, an hour and a half later, everyone was getting antsy. Tristan was talking to that Jess kid, and both Madeline and Rory were watching them circumspectly, for, Paris suspected, entirely different reasons. Brad was, as usual, trying not to piss his pants every time she so much as looked at him.

It was very trying.

***

Pepper jumped frantically up and down as Lorelai walked in the door. The dog looked like a giant cotton ball on speed, Lorelai thought sourly.

"Lorelai, thank you so much for doing this," Marge called from her seat in the kitchen, right leg propped up and supported comfortably with cushions.

"No problem," Lorelai mumbled numbly, eyeing the fluffball apprehensively. "So, um…I'm not quite sure…that is, how exactly…" she trailed off miserably.

Marge smiled brightly. "Oh, it's really quite simple. I've fed him plenty of chicken broth, to increase his liquid intake, you know, and he hasn't gone out yet for his morning piddle. Just follow him out, and when he lifts his leg up, stick that under him." She waved merrily at a rather battered (and Lorelai imagined, sulky looking) pie tin. Whether or not inanimate objects could look sulky was beside the point; Lorelai figured that if you were about to get peed in, you'd look sulky too, pie tin or not.

Anyway.

Lorelai quickly walked to the back door, Pepper yapping excitedly at her heels. She opened the door, and the fuzzball shot out. Lorelai vaguely remembered reading somewhere that chicken broth goes straight to the bladder. Poor fuzzball.

When Lorelai stepped outside, however, Pepper stopped investigating the pea pods for the suitable place to relieve himself upon and thus get maximum spray over the maximum number of pods, and sent her an inquiring glance. It read clearly, _Is something wrong? Did I do it? Will I not get my daily snack? Will it help if I lick you?_

Lorelai moved closer to the dog, trying to look inconspicuous and innocent. 

However, when you outweigh something by about 120 pounds, it's not about to let you get close while it pees.

As Lorelai was soon to find out.

She moved; Pepper danced back. 

She stopped. He stopped. 

She stared at him. He gazed soulfully back—_why won't you let me pee?_

This was clearly not working. Time to regroup. Marshal the forces and all that.

She stepped back a few paces, and pretended to look away, all the while watching Pepper discretely out of the corner of her eye. 

Pepper looked suspiciously at her for a moment, then trotted over to a particularly lovely gardenia and lifted his leg.

Lorelai had never moved so fast in her life. She leapt forward, thrusting the tin under the squatting dog. Pepper let out a startled _Yip! and dashed away. Lorelai scrambled after him, yelling "Come back! Come __here!" at the top of her lungs. Pepper did a 180° turn worthy of an ice dancer, tore through her legs and raced away as Lorelai sat down hard with an __oomph__! Pepper stood quivering at the base of the stairs, eyeing her anxiously._

Lorelai looked at the tin.

 Nothing. Not. One. Drop. 

She said a mental apology to the God of Gardenias for the trampled and somewhat mangled flower, then picked up the tin.

Stupid furball.

A half an hour and several more fruitless chases later, Lorelai was still standing in the garden. The pie tin was still empty. And Pepper, bless his fluffy little soul, still had yet to produce one ounce. 

His bladder had spent the time arguing furiously with his brain's suspicion of Lorelai. After a while, his kidneys also started to squawk crossly at him, and he resignedly lifted his leg and let Lorelai place the tin underneath.

They both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Lorelai, what the hell are you doing?" 

She spun around.

Oh, _Christ. Her stomach sinking, Lorelai suddenly realized that God did indeed exist and this was his way of punishing her, the infidel, for 30-odd years of unbelief. She hoped He was at least getting a good laugh out of it._

There she was, filthy, sweaty, disheveled, and holding a pie tin full of pee. And staring at her, eyes wide, was Luke.

Bladder finally empty, Pepper gave an appreciative bark and trotted away. 

Lorelai would never,_ ever live this one down._

***

Heeheehee. I'm ending it there. The chapter, that is. We still have a ways to go yet on the story. Hope you all enjoyed it. 


	9. Insert Evil Laugh Here

**AN: Yeah. It's short. I apologize. Stupid writer's block. I just wanted to get this out there before I completely ruined it by constant re-editing. Melia: The Paris POV in chapter 8 occurred during their project meeting at the diner. Jess still goes (well, when he deigns to go) to Stars Hollow High, or whatever that place is called. And jewls13: I'll have to think about more pranks. The only thing I can think of right now is hiding fish around a building—it _really smells._**

**Chapter Nine: Insert Evil Laugh Here**

_Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company._

_—Mark Twain_

"Tristan, can you possibly tear yourself away for just _one more minute so we can finish this?" Paris was clearly irked about something._

The most likely cause of her irritation rolled his eyes and turned back to the group. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Jess came with. 

"Paris," he greeted her.

She looked at him, annoyed. "If you are not an expert on Beard's economic interpretation of the Constitution, go away."

He laughed lightly. "Ah, Paris. So passive and demure. I worry sometimes about your lack of focus."

"Ah, Jess. Being a juvenile delinquent must take up so much of your energy. Tell me, do you practice that I Am Tortured and Misunderstood By Society At Large attitude, or does it just come naturally, like Tristan's perpetual smirk? And why are you even here? Don't you have people to harass, things to blow up?" she asked sourly.

"Why, do you have any suggestions?" he shot back.

"I'm sure we could come up with a few," Tristan interjected.

Paris swung around. "Don't even _think about. You are not to get into any sort of trouble until the project is __finished."_

Tristan smiled mischievously. "I promise not to get caught."

"You were last time."

"A piece of foolishness on my part. It won't happen again." ("Who died and made you British?" Madeline mumbled.)  
Rory cleared her throat. "Uh, Paris, what do we still need to do?"

Paris blinked.

"Oh. I just wanted to go over everyone's duties for Monday, as you know, we need an outline of the paper part of our project by next Thursday, and…"

Rory sighed. Brad squirmed. Madeline looked pointedly at her watch, and Tristan edged away toward Jess. 

Paris didn't finish for a full ten minutes.

*** 

"Lorelai? What the hell are you doing?"

What could she say that didn't make her sound pathetically crazy or crazily pathetic?

"Marge asked me if I would get some of…you see, Pepper, her dog has…I was just trying to…Oh _Christ." She was suddenly defeated. "Luke, we need to talk."_

Luke nodded. His eyes kept straying towards the pie tin.

He didn't know what to say. Or rather, he didn't  known just _how to say it. Hey, Lorelai, I know this started out as a joke and all, but whatdaya say about trying it on for size? _

Yeah, right. Like _that would go over well. She'd either start laughing hysterically or have him committed. Neither of which were very desirable options._

"So. What…I mean, how do you think…everyone keeps saying that…" He broke off abruptly, scowling. "Lorelai, will you please put that damn pee tin—_pie tin down!"_

Her mouth twitched. She carefully set the tin down (she had, after all, spent good time getting it) on a rock a ways behind them. Then she turned and faced him, her own expression cautiously neutral. 

***

Jess was not often surprised.

In fact, it happened so rarely that he tended to look upon such occurrences with an almost prophetical light.

Rather ­­superstitious of him, no doubt. But all the same, he believed that it meant something. 

When he first listened to the Ramones, for example. There had been such hype about them, and he was fully prepared to dismiss them as just another punk-rock group feebly trying to be hardass. He was pleasantly surprised to find that a) they were good, and b) he really liked them.

When he first read The Lord of the Rings. There are reasons why that trilogy is called a classic.

When he first met Rory. Nothing could have prepared him for _that._

And now, meeting Tristan.

He was expecting an Abercrombie-coifed-stuck up snob, and instead, he got someone who reminded him of…well, an Abercrombie-coifed-better mannered (but not by much) version of himself.

As astonishing as that was.

The meeting had (finally) ended after Paris had extracted promises on pain of death that they would complete the necessary assignments for Monday. Madeline had fled for the greater joys of the Hartford Mall, and Brad, the little twit, had scampered off somewhere the moment Paris had left (after making sure she had everything she needed; Jess didn't know whether to pity or scorn the boy for his fear. Given the effect Paris had on people, especially shy people, probably the former). Rory, seeing that Tristan wasn't leaving immediately, shot over to the market, presumably to warn off Mr. Floppy. 

The two boys watched her go in silence. Tristan swiveled back on the stool to face Jess.

"I hate him."

"I know. But think of it this way: where else would you see that particular shade of red? It is so amusing to watch the cords in his neck bulge out when he's really mad."

Tristan laughed. "Yeah, I bet. Unfortunately, I've never come out very well against him. Made a complete ass of myself at one of our dances last year. My fault, really. As he so astutely pointed out, it's hard to start a fight when you're wearing a tie—the intimidation factor kind of goes down."

Jess refilled the other boy's cup. "That's cause you don't have my skills," he grinned. "And you went about it all wrong. You pissed off Rory—me, I just made her flustered. A Mad Rory justifies Dean. A Flustered Rory confuses him."

"Point for you," Tristan acknowledged. "And you're right, I didn't have a bloody clue. Ah, well. Now I just want to irritate the hell out of him."

"Easily done," Jess said. 

They grinned at each other wickedly.

Bag Boy, beware.

***

As I still am waffling between our two boys, I decided to spread the love around a bit. I know, I'm selfish—I just wanted to play with both of them, cause they're both sooo _adorable! (How they would both vomit at __that!) I also apologize about the abruptness of the L/L interaction—I'm a little bitter about Anna's (__Jewel of the Nile—if you haven't read either that or its prequel, __Roman Holiday, I insist you do so. Right now. Even if you aren't a Harry Potter fan, as a reader of fan fiction, you simply cannot miss out on this extraordinary example of fine writing) cliff-hanger, and so I decided that if __I must suffer, then so shall __you. That 'misery loves company' saying didn't come from nowhere, folks :) _


	10. You Never Really Know When You're Trappe...

**AN: Hey! I'm back. In all fairness, I just want to let you guys know that I definitely won't be updating as regularly. Apparently, in order to go to college, you actually have to _apply. They definitely should put disclaimers on their brochures about that._**

**Chapter Ten: You Never Really Know When You're Trapped**

_Love never made a fool of me. I always was one as you can see._

_—Greg Brown_

Sookie was mentally debating the merits of the crème Brule versus devil's food cake when Michel came in, looking amiable. This was definitely a cause for concern, and Sookie experienced an uneasy rumble in her stomach that had nothing to do with the bad batch of guacamole she had earlier.

"Is Lorelai here?" Michel asked, oblivious to her discomfort.

"It's Saturday, Michel, she's not coming in until later to prepare for the dinner tonight."

"Well, her mother is here looking for her."

Oh, dear. Ever since the Wedding Planning Experiment From Hell, Sookie hadn't really trusted herself around Emily Gilmore. The woman had a way of tapping into your secret, impractical fantasies and making them seem plausible.

Sookie hesitantly made her way into the foyer. Emily was watching abstractedly as a young woman, whose name Sookie couldn't for the life of her remember, fussed with the flower arrangements. Normally, Emily would have given some "helpful hints," i.e. she would have told the woman what was and was not acceptable in such an arrangement. Today she watched silently.

In a flash of comprehension, Sookie realized that Lorelai had told her mother about the "engagement." She further recognized what sort of an impact such an announcement would have Emily, who had long wanted her daughter to get engaged. When Lorelai finally (well, sort of) did, it wasn't in the way Emily had imagined, to the man Emily wanted.

Emily finally noticed her. "Sookie. I assume you've heard?"

Sookie nodded slightly.

"Since she won't talk to me," Emily continued, "perhaps you would tell me—what sort of mess has Lorelai gotten herself into?"

Choosing her words carefully, Sookie replied, "Well, their friendship has gone way back, but I don't know how this will affect it. I know they both care about each other, but—"

"But what?" Emily interrupted. "Could this actually go somewhere? I know the Flannel Man feels some sort of ice man affection for my daughter, but what about Lorelai?"

"I'm not sure. She's always been so…I mean, I don't think she's really actually considered Luke before this. I know it's crossed her mind, but never seriously, and now…"

Sookie broke off. She hadn't meant to say so much. It was something about Emily's fixed stare on her face that made her want to confess all, like a child caught in the middle of a naughty prank. Emily would have made a very good confessor.

"And now?" Emily demanded.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"But you could speculate." Emily had a calculating gleam in her eyes that made Sookie break out in a sweat. 

"Yes, yes I could," she said miserably.

***

Lorelai turned and faced him, her own expression cautiously neutral. 

"Look," Luke said awkwardly, "About yesterday…were you…I mean, I wasn't…"

"Neither was I," she said quickly, without thinking.

"Yeah," he said, slightly deflated. "Yeah, me neither."

"Okay…" She avoided looking at his eyes.

"We were just messing around, right?" he asked, and she hated him for saying it, and hated herself for agreeing to it without really knowing why.

"Yeah. I mean, that's nothing to joke around about, not to mention that my mother almost had an aneurysm when I mentioned it—"

"You told your mother?" he asked incredulously.

"Um. Yes. Is that—it doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I can just imagine her face," he joked weakly. 

They both laughed awkwardly.

"So…we're good, right?" Luke asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. We're great. Better than good. Which would be…great. Yeah. It's fine," Lorelai babbled, then mentally damned herself for being an idiot.

"Well. Alrightly then. I'll see you around?"

"Definitely. You've got the coffee."

He fled.

She sighed.

Well, that was that.

***

A while later, Rory wandered into the diner. Dean was still working, her mother had apparently fallen off the face of the earth and she was badly in need of entertaining.

"Hey Caesar, is Jess here?"

He jerked his thumb upstairs and protectively moved the Danish dish away from her.

Jess was sprawled out on his bed, headphones on, head bobbing, immersed in a book. Rory snuck up behind him, intent on shouting _boo! then realized in consternation that not only was he reading one of __her books, but he was also marking it up in __ballpoint pen. Annoyed, she picked up an empty soda can and bounced it off his head._

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself. That's _mine," she pointed._

"So I borrowed it," he said smoothly.

"So I did not give you permission to borrow it, nor did I give you permission to mark it up with your ugly little handwriting," she said indignantly.

"Rory, Rory, Rory. I'm only enriching _your reading experience with my thoughtful comments." _

She snorted. "Since you're _so academically minded."_

He grinned impishly. "I'm a learner."

"I see you made a friend today," she said cautiously.

"Why, are you scared?" he asked. "Your boyfriend should be."

She glared at him. "Play nice, or there will be consequences."

"Like what? He'll beat me up? By the way, does he even know you're here, in _my room? Alone?"_

She paused. "He's working."

"That's evasion."

"So? You're just like Tristan, insinuating everything. No wonder you get along," she huffed.

"Don't get upset, Rory. At least I know your name."

"A minor improvement."

"Anyway, explain to me why you like this book. Honestly, if you're not Faulkner, then you don't have permission to just ignore punctuation marks. The last few chapters I've been adding them in just to help myself get through this…"

***


	11. Fallout

**AN: So, I read my last chapter…kind of abrupt ending there…sorry about that. I'll try not to cop out this time. I was going to post this with the last chapter, but then my computer ate part of it (we're currently fighting—and now that the printer has entered the fray, I fear my chances are slim). By the way, I love how I say that I'm not going to update as often, and then I do. Ah, inconsistency. **

**Chapter Eleven: Fallout**

_Friends applaud, the Comedy is over._

_—Beethoven  _

"So, it's over? Just like that? How could you leave it so unresolved?" Rory stared at her mother.

Lorelai glared furiously at the Light Of Her Life And Fruit Of Her Loins. Rory had been questioning her for the last twenty minutes, and all Lorelai really wanted to do was take a bubble bath and listen to _Total Eclipse of the Heart._

"Will you _please let it go? We didn't leave it unresolved because there was nothing to resolve!" she thundered._

"Okay, jeez, relax. If it wasn't a big deal then why are you yelling at me?" Rory asked reasonably, which of course only infuriated Lorelai more.

"Rory, you're traveling into dangerous Emily Gilmore territory here. If you say anything else that remotely reminds me of her, I'm sending you to your room."

Rory threw up her hands in defeat. "One last question: Can we go to Luke's, or are we persona non grata there again?"

Lorelai sighed. "I just told you, we're not mad at each other. We're just not—engaged, or whatever we were."

Rory would have made a flippant comment about relief at not having to wear a bridesmaid's dress, but took a closer look at her mother's face and kept quiet. 

Prudence in a Gilmore? She must have gotten it from Christopher.

***

"So, you and Lorelai?" Jess asked.

"There is no me and Lorelai," Luke replied tersely.

Jess nodded sagely. " 'Tis better to have loved and lost…" 

For the second time that day, Jess was visited by an empty soda can. Had there been a pond nearby, he probably would have visited that as well.

***

Monday dawned bright and sunny.

Rory bounced into her mother's room. "Hey mom! It's Monday! It's bright and sunny!"

Lorelai groaned into her pillow. "Local news: Stars Hollow resident Rory Gilmore kidnapped by aliens, replaced by the evil happy clone."

Rory pouted. "It's not that bad—"

"Wait, I'm not done," Lorelai sat up, and the caffeine left dormant in her system from last night's frappacino started flowing. "The clone will attempt to determine just how far loving mothers will be pushed by waking them up and saying idiotic things like 'It's Monday and it's pretty out.'"

Her daughter frowned. "You are seriously ruining my buzz."

 "Oh! Oh! And the aliens will take over the world by driving the mothers to commit filicide and then they'll all have to go to jail and the population won't be able to reproduce and—"

Rory ran out. Lorelai chuckled and laid back down. 

But now that she started thinking about it, it was sort of strange that Monday would be noticeably bright and sunny. By definition, Monday should be rainy and dreary and only further one's depression at starting the week again. All Mondays must officially suck. It was, like, a law or something. She was positive.

So, for _this Monday to be nice, Lorelai mused, well, it definitely meant something. But what? Various thoughts ran rampant in her head._

Sleep took a look around, and decided that it had been firmly pushed aside by Happy Monday Thoughts.

She gave a small scream, and threw her pillow against the wall. "I'm up, I'm up! I just hope you're happy!"

In the kitchen, Rory giggled wickedly.

***

Rory's happy buzz had definitely worn off by third period. The Chilton teachers had evidently decided that they had to counter-attack the beautiful day and resulting high spirits of their students by assigning insanely large amounts of homework.

She trudged dejectedly out of Precalculus. "This sucks."

"I know. I hope they realize that they have to grade all of this," Madeline said. Paris and Louis fell into step beside them. 

"Still doesn't matter," Louise moaned. "You know they take a month to return stuff anyways."

Rory's next class was History, and Paris had already informed her that she had previously gotten permission from their teacher to let them go directly to the library to work on their project.

Brad and Tristan were waiting for them.

"In your own time, ladies. We can wait," Tristan commented as they walked up. Three pairs of female eyes rewarded him with identical glares. He held up his hands in mock defeat.

"So I'm guessing it hasn't been a good day so far," he said.

"Have you had math yet?" Madeline asked.

Both boys shook their heads.

"Just wait," she promised.

"And on that happy thought," Paris moved to the head of the table, "How has everyone been progressing?"

While Paris interrogated Brad, Tristan slid over next to Rory. She eyed him warily.

"Was Bag Boy mad?"

"None of your business," she replied frostily.

"So he was." Tristan grinned in satisfaction. "Just to let you know, he may want to avoid the diner for awhile."

"Why—"

"Rory. Tristan," Paris broke in. "Sorry to interrupt your little tête á tête, but as we only have forty minutes left in the period and I for one would like to get as much done as possible so I have time to study tonight for the chemistry test tomorrow, which, I'm sure, is first and foremost on _all of your minds. Now is that alright with you? I would __so hate to impede on your social time."_

"Oh, Paris," Tristan leered at her, "You know how excited I get when you're bossy."

Paris blanched, Madeline and Rory rolled their eyes, and Brad stored everything about Tristan's mannerisms away for the day when he actually got up the courage to hit on a girl.

***

"Congratulations," Michel said.

"What?" Lorelai blinked. 

"On your engagement. I assume you'll be leaving soon."

She stared at him. "Seriously, what?"

"Well, after you're married, I'm sure that you'll want to have several children while you're still able, even though I don't understand the concept of children, disgusting little things," he answered.

Her head reeling, Lorelai tried to process what he just said. "Wait, Michel, I'm not—"

Unfortunately, Michel was not about to let an opportunity such as this go without exploiting it to the best of his abilities.

"I wonder if they'll come with baseball caps."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your children. With Mr. Grumpy Diner Man. Although, Lorelai, he always struck me as a Francophobe, you must cure him of this if you expect me to plan your wedding. Which reminds me: Will it be formal, or will you go with a country theme and let him wear jeans?"

"Michel, I'm not engaged!"

"Oh. Well, if you insist on being Ross, then perhaps I can find it in my heart to be Rachel."

"Did you watch that E! special about Anne Heche?" she asked suspiciously. "Because you're starting to sound like her."

"I meant the Ross of _Friends. But you don't actually get married, just engaged."_

"I didn't know you liked _Friends. Although that does explain a few things," she shot back in retaliation._

"Well, I didn't know _you liked flannel. And __that explains a few things about you." _

His laughter followed her down the hall.

***

**AN: _Filicide is killing one's daughter. I think. If you actually speak Latin, please tell me if I'm right. I just took the word filial, which my Critical Reader has informed me means son or daughter, and stuck -cide on the back, which means, well, you know. Death or something. Anyway. Enough of my incoherent ramblings on linguistics. _**


	12. Business As Usual

**AN: So I'm slightly bitter that I can't figure out a way to put Jamie in my story w/o totally messing with your heads. I suppose I could "invent" someone who mysteriously appears to be his clone in all respects and name him…Jake, or something. Gah. I don't know. Anyway, a first year student refers to a student who is in his or her first year on the staff of the _Franklin__. But…you all could probably have figured that out. I just didn't want to confuse any HP fans who were wondering why an eleven year old goes to Chilton…oh, never mind._**

**Chapter Twelve: Business as Usual**

_Lack of preparation on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine._

_—Some kid whose name I can't remember_

Paris glanced down at the sheets of paper just handed to her. Her eyes narrowed. "Louise, you can't turn this in to me."

The blond in question turned around. "Why not?"

"It's single spaced."

"So?"

"So I don't accept story submissions unless they're double spaced."

Louise sighed. "Again, why not?"

"Because of when I go to edit your story and my eyeballs explode due to the teeny tiny margins between lines that I'm trying to write my revisions in and you get all sorts of icky gunk all over your nice pretty paper, that's why." Paris raised her voice. "Let it be known that from now on that any staff writer who turns in stories that are not double spaced will be on copy-editing duty for the next two issues."

Her announcement was met with various groans and other forms of verbal acknowledgement.

A skinny first year on the staff came up behind her and said, his voice cracking, "Um… Paris—Ms. Geller, ma'am, I uh, wasn't able to finish my story for today."

Paris whirled around and sighted her scopes on the unfortunate youth. 

Several older, more experienced students dashed over and settled themselves down for the inevitable smack down.

"What do you mean, you weren't able?" she barked. "Did you suddenly and tragically develop carpal tunnel syndrome? That's what happened to Dave last issue. Because even then you should be able to dictate your story to someone who _can type, right Dave?" _

 Dave shifted self consciously from his vantage point.

"Or was there a Road Rules marathon last night? Oh, how could I have forgotten, Madeline and Louise discussed each and every episode _to __death during lunch today. Even though I can __totally understand your eagerness to watch a bunch of college-age dropouts try to perform inane activities for money, that still isn't a good enough excuse to not fulfill your obligation to this class."_

"Well, uh, actually…" the boy fumbled.

"Yes?" she snapped.

"I wasn't able to finish my interview with Headmaster Charleston. He had a meeting or something, and we never found a time to reschedule."

Paris waited for awhile, then gradually realized that that was it. "So…what? Am I supposed to feel sympathy at your lack of foresight? Didn't you realize that you should _always schedule a back-up meeting just in case?"_

Apparently, the boy had not realized.

Paris blew out a breath and wondered what on earth she had been thinking when she allowed a first year to take on an interview with the Headmaster. Clearly she hadn't been paying enough attention assigning stories. 

She huffed, "Fine. Have it to me no later than the last bell tomorrow," then turned dismissively.

The boy didn't know whether to fall to the floor in relief that she hadn't castrated him like some of the older boys had warned, or to cry because, let's face it, there was _no way he was getting an interview with the Headmaster in one day. But he wasn't going to tell __Paris that._

***

She strode out of the _Franklin staff room fuming about first years and inbred stupidity. So consumed was she that it took two rather loud coughs before she looked up and saw Tristan lounging—there was no other appropriate word for it—on a bench across from their lockers._

She arched a brow at him. "You coughed?"

"4.0 for your thoughts?" he asked instead of replying. "You looked pretty intense there."

"It was nothing. Just _Franklin__ stuff." _

She turned towards her locker and began packing her bag. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Didn't feel like going home."

She nodded, knowing only all to well what he meant.

"Say," he said, sitting up and looking at her inquisitively, "do you want to get some coffee? I know this great little place…"

She swung around, surprise and uncertainty written all over her face, and then in a flash of understanding responded, "It wouldn't happen to be in a certain little town we all know and loathe, would it?"

"Paris! I didn't know you can read minds," he grinned.

With a sense of foreboding she replied, "Well, I don't know…"

"Pretty please, with sugar on top?" he begged. "I promise I'll behave."

She snorted. "Oh, right, like _that will reassure me. If anything, now I'm more nervous."_

He gave her a classic Cute Boy as Puppy Dog look. Or at least he looked as close to puppy like as Tristan could look.

She sighed. "Just for a while."

He better have her home in time to study.

***

Try as she might, Lorelai couldn't evade Sookie forever. 

The latter finally cornered the former in her office (the insufferable Mrs. Wellington had called, _again, about arrangements for her convention, __again) and demanded explanations._

So the story was told again, and Lorelai was grateful to find the kind of wordless understanding and silent compassion that only a best friend can give. She realized, a little belatedly, that she should have expected such a reception in the first place.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry this had to happen," Sookie said quietly when Lorelai finished speaking.

"Sookie, what do I do? Do I just pretend nothing's happened?" Lorelai asked plaintively. "How can I though, I just feel…weird acting like normal. Is that stupid? I mean, it was such a stupid thing, I don't even know why I'm all worked up about this. _Still worked up about this," she gestured vehemently. _

Sookie winced as some of Lorelai's mocha splashed onto her new purple blossom blouse, then said carefully, "I can't tell you what you want, Lorelai."

"But what if I tell you it's okay to tell me?" 

"Lorelai," Sookie said sternly.

"Okay, _fine. But you're __so violating the Best Friends Rules #24," Lorelai pouted._

"Which is?"

"When Best Friend A (that is me) is in need and doesn't know what to do, Best Friend B, you," she supplied unnecessarily, "will do all in her power to help said Best Friend A get out of her situation."

"But," Sookie retorted, thinking fast, "_that clearly oversteps the bounds of Best Friends Rules number…uh, 15, which states that Best Friend B shall not infringe in a Complicated Man Situation, but shall only provide a listening ear and copious amounts of coffee," she finished triumphantly._

"I suppose you're right," Lorelai nodded gloomily.

"Of course you know that Best Friend B is always available for wallowing, even if the situation doesn't call for it in the traditional sense," Sookie said gently.

Lorelai smiled. "Thanks."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

***

See! I _am alive, after all. As usual, feedback rocks my world (along with Jess). _


	13. Welcome to Pleasantville

**Chapter Thirteen: Welcome to Pleasantville**

_The only person who ever actually listens to both sides of the argument is the guy in the next apartment._

_—Anonymous  _

After some internal debating, Rory stepped into Luke's. After all, she reasoned, it's not as though _she got herself engaged (albeit briefly) to the proprietor. _

The diner was apparently empty. Jess was perched on a stool behind the counter, oblivious to the world. The book was _Catch-22, which seems to be required reading for all Rebels with __or without A Cause. His backpack lay unopened and abandoned by the base of the stairs. Rory, although she did not realize it, did a perfect imitation of Smug Tristan Before A Kill._

In theory, she planned on creeping up on him and shouting, thus producing a startled yelp or at best, a jump of surprise. However, her plan was foiled by the errant strap on her backpack, which mysteriously wound itself around a table leg. So as Rory moved forward, the strap remained behind, and eventually the laws of physics and table legs prevented her from continuing her forward momentum. The table _screeched! along the floor, Rory was unexpectedly pulled backwards, and they collided in the middle of the room._

Jess looked up. "What the hell are you doing?"

Red to the very tips of her roots, she replied, "Uh, nothing. I mean, I was, um, trying to sneak up on you."

"And you decided to bring the table along with you?" He grinned at her, and she smiled back despite herself.

"Well, you know. Best laid plans and all," she climbed up on the stool opposite him. "How's the book?"

"It was good the first fifty times I read it, but now the plot's getting kind of predictable," he said lightly. "Coffee?"

"Always." 

She looked at him consideringly as he poured. He was so many things, and yet it irritated her that he never was any of the things she knew him to be capable of. After watching her mother work for years to get the Gilmore's to where they were now, nothing annoyed Rory more than wasted opportunity. 

"Jess, why do you do it?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Do what?"

"Act like a complete jerk to some people and not others. I mean, Tristan does it too, but his motivations can be pretty transparent sometimes. I don't really get yours."

He sighed, and looked up from his memorization of the floor. "Why?"

"Because it seems so inconsistent. I mean, you aren't very considerate to the adults here and you've been outright antagonistic to most of the Stars Hollow kids, and yet you're nice to me, and strangely enough, you seem to get along with Tristan, though I have no idea why. And another thing: I've never once seen you study. _I know you're smart—the comments you write in my books can attest to that, but everyone else here dismisses you, and you're just…__content with that."_

He blew out a breath. "Wow. In the space of a minute you've called me a lazy, disrespectful, inconsistent, antagonistic jerk who has bad taste in friends. Even for me that's a little harsh, don't you think? Suddenly I'm not feeling the whole 'sharing' vibe."

"Jess, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Rory? That I wasn't very considerate towards _your mother? That I'm not buddy-buddy with __your boyfriend? That I got along with the one guy who also doesn't quite fit into your perfect life? That I'm not __driven exactly like you?"_

"That's not fair, Jess," she said desperately as he started to walk away.  This wasn't going at all as she had planned. Come to think of it, _nothing about this was planned. In the back of her mind Rory could hear a little Paris-Voice say mockingly, __This__ is what you get for not thinking things through, girly._

Oh, shut up.

***

Ignoring Paris' protestations, Tristan parked in front of the stoplight and got out. He figured he'd be doing the town a favor if he had to pay a fee, anyway. 

They wandered into the empty diner and sat down. A few minutes later they heard the sound of a pan banging down in the kitchen. A few minutes after _that, Tristan got up and walked behind the counter, heading towards the kitchen. _

"Tristan! What are you doing?" Paris hissed.

"Going to see if anyone's here. I'm bored," he threw over his shoulder.

"Tristan! Come back! You don't know what's died back there!" she whispered frantically after him, then, with the sigh of a true martyr, got up and followed him, dripping resignation.

Jess and Rory were standing in the middle of the kitchen, deep in heated conversation. They weren't yelling yet, but years of experience with their parents had taught both Tristan and Paris that it was only a matter of time. If anyone else had been in the kitchen previously, they had long ago sought cover.

"Hey guys," Tristan said cautiously. "What's up?"

"We're fighting," Jess said without losing a beat.

Rory flushed. "No, we're not."

"Fine, whatever," Jess waved his arm dismissively, "We're having an intense discussion, are you happy?"

"I would be _happy if you would calm down and let me explain," Rory shot back._

"Why bother, Rory? It's clear that you've already made up your mind about me. Just because you don't like the outcome doesn't mean you can change it into something you're comfortable with!" With that, Jess stormed out of the kitchen. Rory winced as the door slammed behind him.

The sudden loss of energy was slightly numbing, like the ringing in your ears after a concert. 

Tristan stirred, and said quietly, "I'll make sure he's alright."

As he left, Paris turned to Rory, who was staring at the floor, or a memory. "Are you okay?"

The other girl nodded absently. 

"It could have been worse," Paris said in a facsimile of Madeline's lightheartedness, "He's not your boyfriend."

Rory started at that, then standing up resolutely, said, "No, he's not," and it was not at all clear if she was talking to Paris or herself.

Paris watched her leave, certain only in the knowledge that she had once again said the appropriate lines to the wrong person. She wasn't sure why she always thought that channeling Madeline was the right thing to do in every Female Moment. Next time she'd speak her own mind.

Then Paris suddenly realized that she was alone, with no ride home and a chemistry test to study for.

_Ah, damn it._

***

Lorelai was in her office doing 'officey' things when her phone rang. As she went to pick it up, she noticed that it was Michel at the front desk.

"Michel?"

Dial tone.

This usually meant that he wanted something and was too lazy to walk the ten steps to her office like a normal person. 

Then again, this _was Stars Hollow. Normal had taken a good, hard look at this town and run away screaming._

She walked up to Michel, who was busy at the desk doing nothing.

"You rang?" She wondered idly how long it had taken him to perfect that look of patent condescension. He probably practiced in front of a mirror.

Michel nodded imperceptibly to the foyer. 

_"What, Michel?"_

"Lorelai!"

She was suddenly transfixed to the floor. Only one voice had quite that effect on her. She turned and winced. The sight that greeted her was not her worst enemy, although the exact label was ambiguous.

It was far worse. It was her mother.

***


	14. You've Got to Hide Your Love Away

**AN: Happy Holidays, every one! Just to note, I'm BLATANTLY STEALING a line from The West Wing. So not only do I have to apologize to Amy SP, but now Aaron Sorkin as well. Major brownie points to anyone who spots the line.**

**Chapter Fourteen: You've Got to Hide Your Love Away**

_The wildest colts make the best horses._

_—Plutarch _

"Hi, mom."

There. That wasn't so hard now, was it? Unfortunately, Lorelai knew that she couldn't leave and pretend that that passed for conversation. 

"We need to talk." Emily, unequivocal as always.

Oh, yeah. I bet you're just _dying for this conversation, aren't ya, mamme? _

Lorelai turned and led the way into her office, ignoring Michel's unabashed curiosity.

They sat. 

They stared.

Emily conquered.

_Damn it, mother, you're not going to let me off easy, are you? _

Lorelai sighed. "Well mom, are you going to say anything? Cause I actually have real work. If you want, you can sit there and stare while I do it."

Emily's gaze never wavered.

"Or not."

"Lorelai, why do you put yourself through these things? Is this some sort of masochistic thing with you?"

"Yes, mother, I enjoy humiliating myself in front of everyone I know," Lorelai shot back, stung. "Cause, you know, they say if you don't do it at least once a year the ole ego will need to be brought in to the doctor's to be punctured! God, you actually think I do it on purpose don't you? Just to embarrass you—give your country club friends something to talk about, right? 'Oh, you know Emily Gilmore's girl—she's so clueless about relationships she had to con a guy into asking her to marry him!' Why don't you just say it mother? I've embarrassed you and dad and Rory and the Gilmore name, _again!"_

Emily was quiet long after Lorelai ran out of breath. Finally, she spoke.

"No one in Hartford knows, Lorelai."

"Well, I bet you're just so relieved."

"I doubt anyone would be surprised at anything you do anymore, Lorelai."

Lorelai snorted.

"I came because I was worried about you and Rory. You were acting so strangely on Friday. When you first told me, I thought it was just another one of your town's strange customs—"

"I highly doubt that getting engaged to the guy who sells you coffee could be considered a custom _anywhere, mom."_

"But you seemed really upset about it, and when I talked to Sookie—"

"_When did you talk to Sookie, mom?"_

"On Saturday."

"_Why?"_

"Because whatever happened was obviously affecting you, and as Rory's grandmother—"Oh, _God no, mother, __Rory is fine"—and as __your mother, I felt I had the right to know what was going on."_

Lorelai stood up and started pacing around the small office. "Mother, I know my kid, and I can assure you that this isn't affecting Rory. And I wish you'd stop coming down my throat because you think every little personal thing I do is going to somehow negatively affect Rory. If I thought it was, I'd deal with it, but she's fine."

Emily stood up, conveniently blocking Lorelai's path. "But _you aren't. Lorelai, you keep rationalizing my presence in your life as my concern for my granddaughter. Did it ever occur to you that your wellbeing matters just as much?"_

"Mom, I have gotten this far in my life without worry—interference—from you. I think I can manage the next sixteen years on my own as well."

As Lorelai stormed out of the office, Emily said, "Just because I wasn't there didn't mean I never worried."

But if Lorelai heard, she gave no indication of it.

***

One of the reasons Tristan hated Stars Hollow was its size. It was just too _cute to be allowed in real life._

 But it allowed him to find Jess reasonably fast.

The latter was sitting on a rather picturesque bridge smoking fiercely.

"This is quite Anne of Green Gables, don't you think?" Tristan asked, sitting next to the other boy.

"I don't even want to know why you're familiar with that," Jess muttered, tapping his cigarette butt over the side of the bridge.

"May I?" Tristan indicated the pack of cigarettes and took Jess' shrug as a yes.

They smoked in companionable silence for a while. Finally Jess threw his butt into the pond.

"You want to talk about it?" Tristan looked at the other boy out of the corner of his eyes.

"God," Jess muttered in disgust. "Everything here reminds me…" Tristan didn't need him to finish.

"You know what you need?"

Jess looked at him skeptically. "A smack upside the head?"

"Beer. Lots of it."

"In Stars Hollow?!" 

Tristan laughed at that. "Man, you _are out of it, aren't you?" _

"You think you could keep up with me?" Jess challenged, more out of defensiveness than anything else.

Tristan grinned. "Not tonight, but then again, I'm not the one who's depressed."

"That's still pretty ambitious for a prep like you. Don't you have smart school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but Paris is presenting a summary or something of our progress on The Project," Tristan's tone spoke volumes, "And I don't really want to be coherent for that."

Jess smirked. "You're on."

***

What the hell was up with people?

One minute, you're talking like two normal people, the next, bam! Psychotic Jess in 2.5 seconds. After the first few minutes, her mind had started wandering into uncomfortable territory, and so Rory had firmly tucked away the fight with Jess into the back of her mind.

For now, anyways.

Equally worrying was Paris' attempt at being helpful, and instead coming off like some bad teen magazine. Rory had at least counted on Paris to be honest, not spout crap about her _boyfriend, for Christ's sake.  _

And then her mother, last night, had been acting all weird, talking about a Mrs. Wellington or someone who had apparently called five times that day—"_Five times! God, doesn't the woman have to fit in a facial somewhere?"—asking about the different wines that would be served. And when Rory had innocently asked what wine __was being served (after all that talk, who __wouldn't be just a teensy bit curious?) Lorelai had thrown a pillow across the room and snapped, "It's wine, they'll drink it!" before stomping up the stairs in a huff._

Jeeze.

And _now, Tristan appeared to be hung over._

***

"I'm not _appearing to be hung over, I __am hung over," he said waspishly when she commented. "God, talk about stating the obvious."_

"It's Tuesday," she said stubbornly.

"I'm not _that hung over."_

"Tristan! What do you think Paris is going to do when she finds out?"

"She'll yell at me until it's our turn—what exactly are we presenting, anyways?—then do a magnificent job, the teacher will be suitably impressed, and we'll all get A's."

Unfortunately, he was right.

"Just tell me, why exactly were you getting drunk on a school night?"

"Why Mary, it sounds to me as though your primary objection to my illegal activities is that I engaged in them on a school night." For an ill man, Tristan could still smirk with the best of them.

Because he was sick (although it was by _his doing), and because she was really a nice person at heart, Rory didn't throw her binder full of loose-leaf notes at him. _

She threw his.

***


	15. Don't Burn the Day Away

**Chapter Fifteen: Don't Burn the Day Away_  
  
_**

_The best thing you've ever done for me_

_ Is help me take my life less seriously_

_It's only life, after all._

_—Indigo Girls_

That Lorelai was in a ferociously bad mood was obvious to everyone. However, Sookie doubted that many, including Lorelai herself, knew exactly _why she had been so evil-tempered recently. Sookie didn't doubt that Lorelai had an inkling. But said inkling was probably filed away under Things Lorelai Didn't Ever Want to Think About._

Sookie, of course, knew the answer. She suspected that Emily was beginning to realize as well.

She was not prepared for the knowledge that _Michel saw it too._

"It is obvious," he said insufferably. "She has unresolved feelings for Mr. Baseball Cap Man. If we were in France they would simply spend a night together and get it out of their systems. But no, you Americans have to go and get all _emotionally __involved." He shuddered delicately._

Sookie picked her jaw up off the floor and snapped, "It's a little more complicated than that, Michel. Gosh, I thought European men were supposed to be _sensitive."_

"And when was the last time you were in Europe?" he asked acidly.

"Sad, but true," she conceded.

"If I were in their shoes I'd—"

"Leaving now," Sookie broke in hurriedly. She didn't know if she could handle anymore of Michel the Love Guru.

Under ordinary situations, Sookie wouldn't dream of butting in. But because it was Lorelai and she had the ability to ignore something she didn't want to think about indefinitely, and because she really was in a horrid mood and the guests were beginning to pick up on it, Sookie resigned herself to a good talking-to. 

After lunch was probably the safest time. One had all of those tryptophanes floating around the system and as a result one would be very sleepy and less inclined to throw things.

 At least, in theory.

***

The presentation had gone extremely well. That together with the fact that the Chemistry test had been extremely easy made for a very happy Paris. Well, perhaps _smug was a better word. But Madeline wasn't going to pick bones about it._

She _had yelled at Tristan, but in private (displaying a tact that no one thought Paris possessed) and neither of them looked the worse for it, so Madeline guessed it was only a grade two yell. Tristan had yet to explain why he had been drinking, but he kept shooting pensive looks (as opposed to his former longing-filled ones) at Rory all of Tuesday and much of Wednesday. _

Paris evidently knew, but managed to resist Madeline and Louis' best nagging attempts until early Wednesday morning when they—along with the rest of the hallway—got to witness the spectacle of Paris losing her temper.

They hadn't asked since.

Rory, for her part, wasn't nearly as perky. In fact, she wasn't much of anything except introspective. Paris had to ask her three times—_three times—about her part of the project before Rory snapped back from Never Never Land and into the present._

Even more aggravating, Paris didn't so much as _glare at her about the zone out. _

If she didn't find out what was going on by the end of the week, Madeline was going to _die._

***

Sookie peeked in Lorelai's office. "Hey. Can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Lorelai motioned her in without looking up from the file she was pawing through. Mrs. Wellington's convention was turning out to be even more of a hassle than Lorelai had originally anticipated. That coupled with Emily's impromptu visit more than filled Lorelai's quota for Irritating Society Women.

For some reason, Sookie looked slightly apprehensive. Lorelai frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No…well, yes," Sookie stuttered. "I'm just worried about you."

 Lorelai sighed. "Look, I know you are. You guys have been tiptoeing around me since my mother left yesterday. I'm sorry about the way I've been acting; I promise I'll get over it."

"Will you?" Sookie asked very quietly.

A line creased between Lorelai's brows. "What do you mean?"

"I know you don't want to talk about this—"

"You're right. I don't."

"But it needs to be said," Sookie continued doggedly. "Everyone's noticed that you're upset—even the guests. Lorelai, no matter what's happened, you usually have better control than this. You _have to resolve this thing with Luke."_

Lorelai gaped at her best friend. "You think this is about Luke?"

"Well, if not, then what is it about?" Sookie asked evenly.

Lorelai couldn't answer; her mind was too rapidly whirling.

"I could be wrong. But I just think this whole Luke engagement thing hit a little closer to home than you were expecting, and that confused you."

"Oh, god," Lorelai groaned. She felt drained. "What do I do?"

"Talk to Luke. You owe him that, at least. And don't put it off any longer, sweetie." With that, Sookie left quietly, leaving Lorelai staring at her hands.

***

Tristan slammed his locker shut, then jumped as Paris' face appeared behind it. 

"Jesus! Can't you announce yourself or something?"

"You need to talk to her."

He blinked. "Umm…subject please?"

"Rory. You have to talk to her."

Tristan started to walk down the hall. "About what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Tristan. I know what you got on the PSATs."

"Okay, I don't even want to know _how that particular piece of info found its way into your grabby little fingers."_

"Tristan! I thought you'd do anything to see Rory break up with Dean."

"Yeah, but she was supposed to go running to _my arms. It's kinda weird to be directing her somewhere else."_

He looked over, saw her eyes softening at his words, and grinned crookedly. "It's okay, really, it is, but still…Besides," he straightened up, "This is more of a girl thing. You do it."

"Are you kidding?" Paris scoffed. "She'd either die laughing or send me to get evaluated. You know I don't do the sensitive thing."

Tristan shrugged. "Hey, it was your idea."

***

**AN: Just to note: I don't want all of the Trories to get upset with me. So far, the only foreseeable action in Rory's future relationship-wise is The Breakup. But since CMM seems to have fallen off the face of the earth and what with all the literati action on the show, I can't help but feel the Rory/Jess love. I hope you'll stay with me no matter where I go with the storyline, as I very much enjoy reading all of your comments. The title is a line from the Dave Matthews song, _Pig, which I recommend to anyone. _**


	16. How Now Brown Cow?

**AN: Thanks for all of the reviews. You guys give me way too much credit. Moswen: I had to laugh when I read your review of chapter 15. Yes, I know that it's pretty ambiguous; patience my dear. All will be revealed. Luisa: If you still can't get to ch. 7, let me know and I'll email it to you.**

**Chapter Sixteen: How Now Brown Cow?**

_Most of the things I worry about never happen anyway._

_—Tom Petty_

It really was quite simple, once you thought about it. Didn't even require a major leap of faith. Hell, the dots were practically connected for her. She had feelings for Luke. Or something.

There. 

She'd admitted it, at least to herself. And lightning had not struck her down, pigs were not spotted flying through the sky, the earth continued revolving on its axis, and Hell, as far as anyone knew, was still burning merrily.

So now what?

Just because Lorelai _knew she had feelings for him didn't mean she knew what to __do with said feelings. Besides, what was the exact definition of "feelings"? Was it the way she felt more comfortable with him than almost any other guy? The way she wasn't worried about letting him see the "real" Lorelai? The way she loved to tease him, and make him smile, and laugh? The way a pang would go through her at any mention of Rachael or any other girl he'd ever been with?_

Hmmm. 

_Hmm to you too, a little voice in the back of her mind said gratingly. It sounded suspiciously like Emily. __The truth hurts, doesn't it?_

Actually, Lorelai thought back, it's more like the incline to the top of the roller coaster. Doesn't hurt, just terrifies.

_Still, the Emily-Voice said miffily, Now__ can you see what the rest of the world has known all along?_

Traitor, Lorelai thought viciously, and forced the Emily-Voice to the back of her mind before returning to her musings.

If only love came with an instruction manual or an internal buzzer that went off whenever you began to do or say something wrong.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Lorelai wasn't even sure if a relationship—dear God, a _relationship—with Luke was something she even wanted to pursue right now. They had just settled back into their routine after the long parade of Chris/Max/Rachael had disrupted it._

Of course, the marriage proposal thing had shot the "routine" pretty much to hell, and they couldn't even blame anyone but themselves for _that. _

Lorelai was startled out of her reverie by the phone. She looked around for several moments, then as a last resort checked the phone base. 

Of course, the last place she'd ever check is the one place it's supposed to be.

"Hello?"

"Lorelai, dear, it's Marge from next door."

Lorelai's heart sank. She had studiously avoided Marge since—well, you know. She had come across Pepper a few times after, well, _you __know, and the poor dog had immediately turned tail and run. Lorelai didn't like seeing the dog either, as it reminded her of another disaster in her and Luke's relationship._

She forced some cheeriness into her voice. "Hi, Marge."

"Well, Dr. Lovejoy, the vet, you know, called and I just thought you'd like to know that Pepper's in the clear!"

"Oh. That's great, Marge." As long as I never have to go near that dog again, Lorelai thought. Or pin tins. Don't want to go near those either.

They chatted for several minutes, then Lorelai hung up. If Marge ever needed help again, she'd send Babette. Babette liked animals, right? Hell, she must have; she'd thrown her cat a damn _wake._

Lorelai plopped onto the couch and returned to the Luke Problem. If—hypothetically speaking, of course—if she did want to pursue this Luke thing, how in God's name would she go about it? The situation reminded her of that scene from _Clueless, after Cher realizes her feelings for Josh, and consequently realizes that she doesn't know how to act around him. Lorelai smiled at the memory and made a mental note to rent __Clueless for the next movie night. Beverly Hills didn't get much better than that. _

Anyway.

If it were any other guy but Luke, Lorelai would know _exactly how to act. The hair twirl, the laugh, the smile, the whole flirty package. But this __was Luke. Luke. He came from a different race of men altogether. If she attempted any of her normal flirty stuff, he'd call a doctor._

So what then?

***

Luke, being Luke, planned on studiously ignoring the problem. He was aware that something had changed between himself and Lorelai, and he was also aware that she was avoiding him—since she practically _lived at the diner normally, her recent absences sort of underlined the obvious._

But since he didn't know _what was different, he opted to just ignore it. When Lorelai finally did make her return to the diner, Luke would act as though the last week had never happened._

*

"You're being stupid," Jess said from his perch on a bar stool.

"What?" Luke asked without turning around. They were closing up for the night, and Luke was wiping down tables. Jess was being "helpful" by sitting on his ass and making acerbic comments.

"About this whole Lorelai thing. I was watching you today. Your eyes would light up every single time the doorbell rang, and your face just fell every time it wasn't her."

"So you're going to your psychology class now?" Luke asked, stung. He didn't turn around.

"No, I'm just observant."

"Yeah, you're a real bird watcher, aren't you?" the older man growled.

Jess shrugged. "I just think you should either get up the balls to say something to her, or get over it and stop getting walked over, if you ask me."

"I didn't," Luke ground out. "But since we're on the subject, how did your little fight with Rory go? Caesar told me," he said in reply to Jess' surprised face. "Has your insightfulness shown you a way out of that?"

"That's different," Jess said shortly. "I'm leaving before you get inspiration from Archie Bunker."

"You started it." Luke threw his rag in the bucket. He was being childish, Jess was being vindictive, and they both knew it.

"Mee mem mee," Jess mimicked as he left.

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

The door banged shut, leaving Luke pulling at his hair in exasperation.

***

**AN: I hope that clears up some stuff.**


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